Hit The Road
by The Archimedes Complex
Summary: From the very beginning, Scout was always going to be Scout. He was always going to be faster, stronger, harder than anyone else for the people that relied on him. He was always going to be this way, just like his father...


Invincible.

He couldn't describe it any other way.

That feeling. The one that coursed through his veins whenever he dodged a bullet with a hairs breadth to spare, whenever he threw himself over impossibly wide gaps from one rooftop to the next, whenever his bat met the skull of an unsuspecting target.

In – frickin – vincible.

Even now as he pumped the scattergun a pure rush of adrenalin surged through him, tugging the corners of his mouth into an involuntary grin. He knew he shouldn't enjoy it so much, after all what would his ma say? She'd raised him better than that, taught him to be smarter than the others. Her words echoed in his ears, drowning out the gunfire:

"Wipe that smirk off your face. This ain't no laughing matter. Your life ain't no game!"

He could almost see the anger flushing in her cheeks when something flickered in his periphery. Without a moments hesitation he swerved round and fired.

The harrowed scream that followed revealed his target, falling from his hiding place in the shadows the boy flailed forward, desperately clutching at the hole in his neck. A half gurgled plea escaped him before the butt of the scattergun found his head, spattering Scout with a mess of blood and brain matter.

"Aww man, you gotta be kiddin." He muttered, quickly wiping the gorey mess from his shirt. "This is new! Brand new Red Socks merch, and you gone and got your dead ass all over it. You had better pray this don't stain!"

The limp body didn't reply. He couldn't have been older than sixteen, with a short, gangly frame and skin freckled with acne it would never have seemed like this kid was ready to take a life, but the glock poised in his dead hand said otherwise.

"Unbelieveable." Scout muttered, kicking the corpse viciously in the side before bolting off. He'd have to soak the shirt back at home, once this whole bullshit turf war was over.

He doubled back through the alleyway he'd launched down and clambered on top of a dumpster, leaping up for the end of the fire escape he hauled himself up and began climbing the stairs scaling the building with record speed. He was barely out of breath by the time he reached the top, and he'd counted at least 20 floors.

"Not bad." He breathed, throwing a look down into the ally. Already the red and blue lights were flashing off the dingy corners, Boston's finest were scurrying down the street like ants. Perhaps a scattergun wasn't the most subtle of weapons to use in the city, god knew it kicked like a mule and the trail of destruction it left didn't take a genius to find. He made a quick note of this and head on.

Hardly taking the time to gauge the distance between the apartment blocks he sprinted towards the buildings ledge and leapt off. Legs spinning beneath him on some invisible road the momentum carried him effortlessly to the fire escape of the next building. Grappling with the railings he swung himself up and clambered on. Over and over this cycle repeated, sprinting and jumping from building to building like an urban tarzan. He only stopped when the setting took a more familiar turn and he found himself staring into his own bedroom window, the sounds of the sirens had drowned out long ago. He'd done it again.

"In-frickin vincible." He laughed triumphantly, sliding under the half open shutter and onto the springy mattress of his bed.

Streak of four he counted this time, those clowns from the south never knew when to let up. The East Boss had warned them plenty, stepping on turf that didn't belong to you was gonna get your ass killed. Scout had merely been sent to implement that message, though he himself had no strong feelings towards either clan. As long as his paydays kept coming, his gun was for hire.

"Bunch of fuckin dopes." He chuckled.

He stashed the scattergun under the bed and shrugged off his shirt. He felt the fabric tendely and traced over the darker crimson patches that mottled its otherwise glorious form. They were still damp. There was no time to loose.

He bolted out of his bedroom and into the minute excuse of a kitchen. Yanking at the taps that gushed to life he scrubbed the shirt under the water, the stream from the shirt staining the sink red.

"Come on, come on!" He washed viciously, flicking bits of brain matter and skull into the plug hole.

"Where have you been?"

He practically dropped the shirt into the sink.

That voice.

That tone.

The tone only a mother is capable of.

He froze.

Leant coolly against the kitchen table she cast a quick eye over him, lips pursed and arms folded.

Judgement.

"It... it aint how it looks." Scout stammered, his heart hammering in his chest. "I was down at Vinnies, see, and we... we went out for a hot dog but the vendor says he's all outta ketchup so I say don't worry I'll take your mustard but I grab the hot sauce instead so when I realise I freaked and spilled it all down me so I came back here to clean up an-"

Her sigh was more cutting than any remark she could have possibly made. She reached up slowly and pinched her brow.

"You know how this ends." She whispered.

"How what ends?" He said, trying to feign ignorance of the blatant lie that stank worse than the dead horse he was flogging. Vinnie. Why did he always fall on Vinnie?

"Don't play dumb with me." She growled. "I wasn't born yesterday."

Though his mouth was completely dry he swallowed hard.

That was all she needed. Her eyes flashed wildly under the black bouffant of hair that had been hair sprayed within an inch of its life. "Tell me the truth."

He fell dumb. Unable to meet her stare his gaze dropped to her feet. All of a sudden he was five years old again, being scolded for tearing ma's favourite cushion and blaming it on his brother. The heat burned his cheeks. He hadn't been able to lie to her then, why did he think now would have been any different?

"You were with those East side boys weren't you? It's what all the sirens are about ten blocks over isn't it?"

He nodded stiffly

"How many this time?" She demanded. "How many did you hurt?"

"It was for us ma, the money will stretch rent out until decem-"

"HOW MANY?" She screamed.

Any moment now his heart would burst through his chest and he would die a coward and a liar. Right there. In front of his own mother. He knew it.

"Four." He whispered. "Four... all dead."

She was silent for what felt like an age, with only the sound of blood rushing in his ears and the tap gurgling like the last target he had killed keeping him rooted to the spot.

Finally he dared to look up at her.

Her eyes shone. Tears streaked the sorrow that ravage her frame down her face.

"My baby." She murmured finally, staring at him as if he really had died right in front of her. "My baby is a killer."

"No ma." He whispered, daring to move towards her. "No ma, it ain't like that."

The second he moved she flinched away. She was looking at him like he was a total stranger.

"I don't know you." She whispered. "I thought I raised you right. I thought I... I thought you were my son."

"Ma, please. It's not what you think." He tried to move again.

She jerked backwards so violently that she knocked over a chair, her eyes fixed on him at all times like a cornered animal.

She was terrified.

"Not again... God no, not again..."

"Ma listen to me, this was for us! You hear! Us! So we could move out of here, so we could... so we could move into a better neighborhood. I was gonna get you that flower shop you always wanted, and... and you could retire and I was gonna take care of you. We wouldn't have to worry about no bailiffs, or rent, or anything... I was taking care of you, the when micky and sammy got back-"  
"YOU LEAVE YOUR BROTHERS OUT OF THIS." She screamed with tears rolling off her chin and dropping to the floor. "YOUR BLOOD MONEY WILL NOT TOUCH THIS FAMILY."

It was all suddenly spiraling out of control. His mother, the woman he loved most in the world was looking at him like a criminal.

It hit him hard in the chest right then. The realization: He was a criminal.

"You saw where gang money put your father, and you're honestly following in those footsteps? Trying to drag this family back down into the hell those clans brought us into?"

"No. No I was doing it to get us out ma! To get us back up top! You gotta believe me!"

"You want to be some thug, some brutal bastard mowing down children for your own damn gain, then go ahead. I can't stop you. But we will have nothing to do with it. Get out."

The words cut like a knife. He reeled for a moment trying to take it all in.

"You get out, you take your blood money with you and don't come back." Those were the same words she'd said to his father all those years ago.

"You do not contact us, you do not look for us, the second you do I'm calling the police and that'll be the last you ever hear from us again. Do you understand?"

The very same.

He couldn't remember what happened next, his world shattered around him in a hazy blur. One moment he was staring at his mothers distraught face, the next he was out on the street with his baseball bat poking out of the hold all by his feet.

What had he done?


End file.
